


Saintly Solace

by JJBATrash



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, It's hard to think of someone better and more wholesome than Martha for this sort of thing, Other, sort of asmr, this is practically self indulgent but i really hope it resonates with someone else out there, who else wants punch saint to asmr them to sleep please don't let me be alone in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 23:16:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19328095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJBATrash/pseuds/JJBATrash
Summary: St. Martha (Rider) welcomes you home after a long, tiring day of (work/school/grinding quests).





	Saintly Solace

You almost faceplant as soon as you walk back into the familiar halls of Chaldea. Everything hurts, and you feel like if Nightingale gave you a chart to fill to show what hurts you would just tear the paper up as a representation. It's pure muscle memory that guides you back into your room, and pure automation that gets you into bed without so much as removing the dirt from your face, or the blood from your scrapes. If you died, it would at least mean you're not in such excruciating pain anymore. Slowly, your head stops pounding, the throbbing in your eyes begins to dull, the ringing in your ears starts to quiet, the burning of your joints subsides. The world begins to fall away, and the blissful sensation of feeling no sensation begins to welcome you to sleep.   
  


........You blink awake, slowly. There's cold on your forehead. And wet. Something cold and wet... a towel? Your vision clears up with a few more blinks. The room is dimly lit, even though it hadn't been when you walked in. You can't help but feel thankful for that, though, as the bright fluorescent bulbs in your eyes first thing would have surely filled you with an urge to knock yourself back out.    


...Is someone humming? You swear you're dreaming, but it sounds so pleasant. And that smell... you hear her before you see her. A gentle, kind voice, that wafts through the room as if on air. It's almost enough to rest your still weary body. Almost.    


"Oh, my, Master, you're awake! I hope I didn't disturb your rest." St. Martha coos as she nears your bedside. Setting a tray down with a soft clatter on the nightstand, the heavenly lady takes the cool, wet rag she laid on your forehead, and wrings it out into a small tub of water at the foot of the bed. Placing her palm on your forehead, your temperature must be at an acceptable level, as her relieved smile indicates. Her hand is so smooth, so soft, despite her... proclivities.    


"You overdid it today, Master. I was worried sick when I saw you return, acting like a zombie! You didn't even notice me greet you, or hear me! I thought for sure that you fell under a curse or a poison!" She says before clearing her throat to regain her composure. "What I mean to say is, you had me worried. I'm glad you are okay. How do you feel?"   


You mumble something about how she doesn't need to worry about you, that Mash is probably going to have a panic attack if she hears about this, but it doesn't register to Martha. She takes the bowl of soup on the tray in one hand, and with the other, offers a spoonful to you, blowing on it gently to help it cool.   


"Say 'ahhhh', Master. I made it just for you, so you can recover your strength and rest for tomorrow!" She says with a soft laugh and a big, encouraging smile. That saintly smile... and it didn't hurt that literally everything she made tasted so good. You suppose that comes with part of your legend being that you served food to the Lord himself, but still. 

You take the spoonful into your mouth and savor the taste. Words are hardly necessary. The light in your eyes regains some of their luster, much to Martha's delight. The holy maiden gladly feeds you for a while longer, gently reminding you to make sure to blow on the soup before eating it, so you don't burn your tongue or the roof of your mouth. When she feels she can let you handle eating by yourself, she gets up, setting the bowl at your bedside to let you eat at your own pace, and goes back to another task. Martha dumps the water she used for the rag into the bathtub, the water gently sloshing against the porcelain tub.   


By the time she finishes cleaning up, wringing out the rag, and drying any puddles from splashes, the saint comes back to find that you had finished your meal, and are sitting at the edge of the bed.    


She kneels beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder.   


"Feeling a little better? Good. Just stay still, okay? It’s been a long, tough day, but it’s over now. Get some rest for tomorrow. Just relax now."   


Before you can reply , she begins softly whispering a prayer, reciting it from memory as her hands slowly move around your face. Her fingers flutter slowly, and she makes gentle strokes in the air just in front of your face, as though her hand was moving through water. It almost shouldn’t work, but somehow, you find yourself feeling better little by little from it. Eventually, her hands move closer, and soon St. Martha is soothing your spirit, and your body, with her soft prayers and gentle touch. Her hands brush against your face, along your forehead, down your cheeks, neck, and shoulder... you can almost feel the energy slowly surging back into your muscles, undoing the soreness and damage and fatigue from today’s hard work.

You don’t even realize how heavy your eyelids have gotten, or that her whispers have stopped being intelligible. When she gently clicks her tongue between scriptures, you are barely aware that you have laid back down, arms spread wide and head flat against the mattress. You are completely blank mentally when she counts down from 100, her hands continuing to graze your face, neck, and shoulders. You have all but completely faded away when she says a gentle “Goodnight, Master~” to you, that flutters in the air before airily entering your brain, becoming the breeze that takes you away from Chaldea, from consciousness, from all the day’s toil, and as the door of Your Room quietly hisses shut, your body ceases to exist to you, and all that remains is the darkness, and the dreamless, restful sleep that will overtake you, and revitalize you for tomorrow’s events. Goodnight, Chaldean Master. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so I wanted to try something fluffy and sort of new. Let me know if you guys like it, and maybe suggest Servants for another one of these down the road? I'm bound to have another bad day some time so when that happens I'd like to do another one of these. Catharsis, amiright?
> 
> "Worth 1000 Words" will be updated soon. Waiting for the script to click in place. Which basically means I'm waiting to find another Servant that stands out and makes me want to make them interact with my two faves.


End file.
